Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Nothin Says Lovin' Like Something Mediocre from the Oven
Hospitality and Evangelism fight for last place in my lineup of spiritual gifts. I know we're called to evangelize, to be hospitable. It's just not something that calls to me so I'm working on that. Now that our daughter and her little family have moved back home, we've had them over for dinner a few times. Since she started a new job this past Monday, I thought feeding them Tuesday night would fall in the category of "love is a verb." We offered, they accepted, and I went scavaging in the basement freezer for something to prepare.

I settled on a pot roast, candied sweet potatoes (because Jeremy loves them and dislikes a variety of other things), green beans with bacon (because everything is better with bacon), fresh garden tomatoes, biscuits and peach cobbler.

And a glass of wine is almost always a good start to a meal.

The roast was tough and stringy, and not very flavorful. Jeremy doesnt touch tomatoes (they were fabulous), Leslie doesnt really care for sweet potatoes (Jeremy had seconds), the cobbler was heavy on the dough side. The baby ate anything anyone was willing to cut into tiny pieces and put in front of him.

So dinner was less than fabulous, but edible. We had placemats, I lit a candle and had fresh flowers from the flowerbed outside. We sat and asked about her job, what she thought so far. A couple of hours later, after they'd gone home, I thought over the evening.

Was my goal to serve a perfect meal? No. Love isn't shown by perfect cooking. Leslie was just thankful to not cook for a night, and have someone else deal with the aftermath of a meal. She seemed to appreciate us asking with genuine interest about this big new endeavor. I would have been more pleased with a pot roast that fell apart, it was so tender. I should have thought to make a few potatoes, or something. Next time I make the cobbler I'll pour less batter on top.

None of it mattered - we spent time together, around a table. There were moments when we laughed so hard over office dialogue, or as our conversation wandered into upcoming fall TV schedules and the shows we all follow. Nice placemats, a pretty centerpiece, great food - that's all nice, but not necessarily necessary. If I'd been the guest rather than the hostess, I would have felt loved and appreciated. And that was the point. Open our home. Be genuine. We'll bless others and be blessed ourselves. Good things to remember.


  posted at 4:21 PM

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    Girl Raised in the South

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